The Lonely Adventurer
by TimeTravelingGirl330
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is absolutely ... Bored. It is not something that he likes to happen to him. Having John away for the night and no cases to work on, he is stuck with trying to find something to do in his flat. What happens from there... Lets just say "The Game is on" as we "Geronimo" WhoLock, Implied DoctorXSherlock (11th Doctor) Rated T for language (Working on Chapter 2)


**Disclaimer** - I do not own Sherlock or Doctor Who. If I did, I would be god. But sadly, I am no such thing. This is only for entertainment purposes. In no way do I do this for any profit or anything ... Not like I really would, but still ...

**Television Shows** - Doctor Who & Sherlock ^w^

**Pairings** - ... There is a mention of John x Mary, and probably an implied Doctor (The Eleventh Doctor) x Sherlock (Although David Tennant is love~~)

I thought about this one day when I was in class and thought this might be something cool to write about. I haven't really written any Doctor Who or Sherlock fanfiction, and I thought it would possibly be a test on my abilities as FanFiction writer to see if I could actually write something from the perspective of these two brilliant men. It is my first attempt at a WhoLock FanFiction, so I try to please. ... Besides that ... I don't think I have anything else to say at the moment. I hope you enjoy!

Also, this is before Episode 9 ("His Last Vow") and the Doctor Who Christmas Special (2013) ("The Time of the Doctor") Just for reference sake.

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_**Scene I  
**_

Sherlock Holmes sat alone at 221B Baker Street. It was one of the only times when he remembered how alone he truly was. Many though him to be eccentric. A psychopath.

"High-functioning sociopath, thank you!" He said to himself.

And for the most part, he was alone.

John hadn't returned to the flat, saying something about buying sentiments for his wife. Whether it be essential or out of good will of himself. True, there was Mrs. Hudson downstairs, but the woman could be troublesome at times. Her stories … He'd heard them many times before and had no desire to relive the agonizingly long hours of being glued, no, _cemented_ to a chair listening to a story he could possibly solve, no, _definitely_ solve in 15 minutes flat.

All the cases that had been assigned or offered to them had either been solved or of little importance to the mind and their time. Mycroft would only bore him with words that would ultimately lead them into a conversation of yelling. Pointless bicker-backer. It was times like these, when his mind was left out of things to do, did he feel his worst.

Bored.

"…Bored." Sherlock stated flatly.

He glanced over at his desk, contemplating whether or not he should take out the gun he kept in there. He choose to have a lazy day. Maybe he should try and make a game of chess with himself. That was always interesting. There was always that. Then again, it might not be as interesting as solving cases. He stood up from his chair, raking a hand through his curly black-ish brown hair, and started to pace his black shoes quietly stepping on the floorboards as his mind raced in thought.

He couldn't just sit around and be a blob of fat all day. Granted it was night, but it was too early to go to might wake up early the next morning and find his boredom once more, ready to plague him. Plus, his mind was too awake to sleep, making it almost impossible to think of sleep at a time like this.

It was pure madness.

And he refused to swell in the thoughts his head he'd spent so long to repress. It wasn't good to think of such things while working on a case. Unless that as John, being the only exception. Who was now being a normal human and getting flowers for a person whom he decided to devote all his romantic feelings for. Not like Sherlock would ever end up doing that. It would only end up slowing him down in his work.

"Oh what the hell." He muttered to himself.

He stepped over rather impatiently and opened the drawer, taking out the gun. He clenched the handle of it not tightly, but not loosely, keeping it at his side at first. He stared at the wallpaper, trying to find something to aim at. Something that would be an easy target. The smiley face always seemed like a pleasant choice. It helped when trying to use his blind spot. Sherlock turned himself sideways, facing the window outside, his right side facing the wall

His eyes stayed pinned to the window as he let his breathing slow, his heart rate steady. His mind started to calculate the angle of which h should hit the target at while at the same time the probability of the shot moving upward from where he originally wanted to aim for. Numbers flew by in his head, possible outcomes and probabilities all zooming at a fast pace. Almost like a calculator.

His grip loosened on the gun, making him unconsciously grip it tighter. He kept his head down for a moment, letting out a small breath of exhaustion. He brought the gun forward, opening the chamber just to make sure that there were still 5 rounds in there. He never knew if John had taken the gun out of there. He did once, but from what he could deduce, he hadn't touched it since. Taking a look inside the chamber, he saw what he had thought to be 5, now 4 metallic bullets lodged in the chamber. He must have forgot that John had probably used the gun when he took it. He just didn't take care to reload.

He took his hand over the gun and closed the chamber, placing the handle of it back in his palm. He closed his yes in thought, keeping a now firm hold on the gun handle. He kept his feet apart, pointing them straight forward at the window. Silence filled the room for a long while. Just Sherlock and his thoughts. Outside, he could hear the bustle of the city, now forcing himself to drown them all out as he tried to concentrate. It was time to focus.

No need to waste little importance on the lives of other civilians outside. Keeping his head low, he blocked out the rest of the noise as he raised the gun. He positioned his arm in a way that his gun was aimed at the smiley face he shot at so many times before. Once he was just about positive that he was at his target, he lifted his head to use his full peripheral vision. Granted that he was trying to enhance his blind spot.

He ran his finger over the trigger, a loud BANG erupting throughout the room as he felt something leave the gun's tip, making his hand jerk backward slightly. He fired a few more rounds until his gun was completely spent, leaving the gun empty. And also when Mrs. Hudson came though the doorway with her temper on fire.

"Sherlock Holmes! What the bloody hell do you think you're doing to my wall?!"

He turned to her with a combination of unamusement and a sort of ticked off attitude. She had her hands on her hips as she glared at him.

"That is coming out of your rent! Hope you know that!" she stated firmly as she took a rather authoritative stance at the doorway to his flat, which she should, considering she was his landlady.

He could tell from her posture and eyes, thought, that she didn't really mean it. So he chose to shrug off her anger, leaning back in a chair as he felt the glare that was being sent his way by none other than Mrs. Hudson herself.

"Mrs. Hudson, if you did wish to do that, you would have done that months ago instead of threatening to do so now." he said flatly as if talking with her was of the most boring thing in existence at the moment.

Her eyebrows furrowed into a expression he could only decipher as pissed the bloody hell off. Like a boiling kettle, her temper was gradually starting to rise.

"Sherlock Holmes, you should be grateful for all you've got instead of wasting and damaging it!"

"On the contrary, Mrs. Hudson, things can be fixed. Renovators hired. As to the answer to your trivial second question, in no way am I ungrateful, Mrs. Hudson."

She had her bony yet angry hands still placed firmly on her hips as she glared at him, now halfheartedly as she did so.

"Then you better stop acting like you are! No wonder you've no friends!"

"That's because I choose to not share my companionship with other people besides the ones I choose to associate with or are in need of any services from myself." he retorted back to her.

The room stayed dead silent as the two of them just stared into each others eyes. The tension created in the room was undeniable. Unintentionally, he'd struck a nerve. In Mrs. Hudson …. And possibly himself as well. Mrs. Hudson took a small step backward, not in fear, but relatively calmly.

"… Then Mr. Holmes, I will leave you to being in the company of your own companionship." she said quietly as she turned around and walked down the stairs.

He watched her retreating form as he heard the clank of her footsteps against the stairs as she descended them. He couldn't even manage to say anything toward her. Then again, who would want to test the waters in the atmosphere filled with so much tension? He'd done so many times before, but he was confident that he'd find a way out of it. But for this, he decided to let it be. Lest he say something that would end up reminding himself of his loneliness that he seemed to have.

Once he saw her gone from the stairs he stood up once more, keeping his exposed hands behind his back as he slowly paced the floor once more. He would probably should find a reason to apologize to her for, although in his opinion, he didn't see any to. John had told him that things such as _that_ would tend to make people a bit sensitive and "hurt" even.

_Note to self, go to a flower shop tomorrow._

Or better yet, get John to look one up and send her a flower arrangement that she would like. He wasn't one for flowers, but he knew that he was, since he was with a woman who adored such things. . His fingers were brought to his temples as he rubbed them to try and think straight. He had to admit, their little chat had been entertaining for the moment, but it didn't last long.

His mind longed for something to do. His greenish-blue coloured eyes flickered over to the gun he had been holding just moments ago. He could continue to shoot at the wall once more. It had been entertaining for the most part. Calculating the precise movements and actions he would have to take, while enhancing his skills.

… But it got boring really quickly.

He needed a case. Oh how he needed a case. He hadn't had one in a few days, and now he was starting to feel the full effects of it. It was almost as if he were still listening to one of Mrs. Hudson's lectures. Some thing that he didn't want to endure again. Not if he could help it.

Even if he did start shooting again, all he would be doing was starting the process of having Mrs. Hudson come upstairs once more and chat about he shouldn't be shooting at her walls once more, or how he 'had no regard for the flat that she most generously let him live in'. All the same, in his mind. There was no need repeating that … Unless he was indeed _that_ bored.

He needed John here. He may not be the best person when it came to deducing things, which he himself was, but John was at least there to keep him company on days like this were there seemed to be nothing to do but sit around be like everyone else on a day such as this. … Normal … It was funny. He never considered himself a normal person, so doing things like normal people would was a bit … boring to him. He didn't want to just sit around and do nothing! He needed to get out and do something! Solve a murder! Criticize John for thinking that a ketchup stain was that of a blood stain. Ignore the calls from Mycroft, trying to get him to do some blasted case that he, frankly, had better things to do than do them… Even if he had nothing to do.

Giving into the urge to at least do something, he picked up the handle to the silver weapon he had been using earlier and went into the small drawer to get out another round to put into it, being careful to make sure that they were all placed correctly. Honestly, you didn't know how many times people would put the bullet in backwards … It was humiliating to say the least, to find that half of the bullets were put in wrong. He quickly closed the chamber to the gun, closing the drawer once more as he went to stand back in his position at the window.

He kept his eyes focused on the window alone as he tried to concentrate … Although something caught his eyes for the moment. Something didn't look necessarily right outside, but then again, that wasn't what he was supposed to be focusing on. It was probably a car parked for a gathering of drunken people across the street from him. Nothing to concern himself with. Or it was probably a police car, Lestrade, no doubt, just checking to make sure nothing bad was going on inside 221B Baker Street, since he may have had the gun shots being fired.

Hell, it would hit anyone's hearing, really. It had even taken him a second to register Mrs. Hudson's voice after making sure the ringing in his ears died down. So he guessed he shouldn't have been surprised that Lestrade had made an appearance. He would deal with Lestrade later, he decided as he focused on the task at hand. Getting back into position to shoot at the wall again, he turned his head to the smiley face that snickered back at him from the wall as he pointed his gun to it, using his peripheral vision to help him. His eyelids closed for a moment as he steadied his breathing.

_Focus_ …

Calculations sped through his mind once more at exactly where he should angle his arm, at what degree his head should be at, the direct point that the bullet would hit the wall. They overflowed his mind as he adjusted his body to it accordingly. As soon as he though, no, _knew_ that his was physically ready to take the shot he opened his eyes once more.

The soft sounds of creaking floorboard suddenly pierced his ears. He had heard steps like that all the time when someone was coming up to their flat. Could Lestrade just not keep his nose out of things! Honestly, everything was under control and alright over here. He didn't need to worry. And even if it wasn't, Lestrade would not have been the person to call because of that. He shook off the sound of the approaching footprints as he continued to stay focused.

His arm that was currently held at his side as soon raised at an angle where he would be able to hit his target, the smiley face, flawlessly. His calculations were just about never wrong. There was rarely a time when they weren't. Clearing his mind of all thoughts, he made sure that the only thing in them was his target, and him.

Not that he would have this much time if he were actually in a situation where he had to use a gun, but it was nice to at least have some time to get some practice before having to set his brain into overdrive to do such a task. Letting out a small breath, his finger slid over the trigger of the gun-

... Until the outline of a silhouette was visible in his peripheral range.

Sherlock restrained himself from letting out an irritated sigh as he kept his gaze to the side, and only to his side. The figure of what he could assume was Lestrade, was leaning against the door frame of his flat, it's arms crossed as he looked at him and what he was doing. Sherlock kept his greenish-blue orbs on the wall in front of him instead at Lestrade in the doorway.

"What is it with you always coming to me door, hmm? I haven't killed anyone, I promise you." Sherlock said dully.

Lestrade didn't talk for a moment but only let out a small laugh as his gaze never left the man with the gun. Sherlock found this odd for a moment. A smug aura around Lestrade was usual, especially when he thought he was about to catch him in the act of 'being the madman he always knew he was'. Oh great. That only meant that there were probably more police cars outside, waiting for him. What where they going to do, raid his flat again?! Oh John would love that. Seeing as he had managed to get himself arrested while he was out getting unneeded treats for his wife. Lovely.

"And for the record, if you're here for a pick up, then I don't think that will be necessary. As you're probably misunderstanding the entire thing." Sherlock added after that, keeping a calm expression on his face the entire time.

Lestrade didn't seem phased by this at all, still smiling at him.

"… My apologies." said a unfamiliar voice.

The realization that the person was not in fact Lestrade momentarily put up a red flag for him. The person standing at the door, continued, although seeing a slight change in the way Sherlock was looking at the wall.

"But I thought you were in need of a Doctor."

From that sentence alone, the only thing heard in the apartment was the sound of two gun shots.

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_**Author's Note**_

Thought I might leave you all on that note. I'm going to add another Chapter to wrap it all up, but it might not be up for maybe a week or so. So you might not know why the Doctor is here or not ... Or if he is alright ... You know, because of those shots ... -likes leaving people in cliff hangers-

But I promise, I have an idea to end this little FanFiction, so don't fret. For now, I hope you enjoyed the story thus far.


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